


Babysitting Lucifer

by fireopal77



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angel of San Bernardino, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Love, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireopal77/pseuds/fireopal77
Summary: An Alternate Version of “The Angel of San Bernardino” 3X20 where Chloe is more sympathetic about Lucifer’s sleep issues. Plus a happy Deckerstar ending!





	Babysitting Lucifer

“We’re done here,” Chloe turns her back and walks out, leaving Lucifer alone in the interrogation room. She returns to her desk, but the paperwork she plans to take home with her keeps slipping through her fingers as she tries to cram it into her shoulder bag. And she almost drops her laptop; her fumbling fingers catch it just before it crashes onto the floor. Lucifer’s anguished cry of “I can’t sleep!” reverberates inside her brain. He’s exhausted, irrational and manic, to the point where she can easily imagine a psych ward being a part of his very near future. He’s been depriving himself of sleep for over a week because he’s afraid he’s become some sort of rogue angel flying through the night doing good deeds. And now he’s claiming Pierce is the biblical Cain, an immortal man, history’s first murderer, desperate to rid himself of some God-ordained curse. But what Chloe finds most telling is that, amidst all this insane metaphor-laden babble, Lucifer admits that he’s been seeing his therapist about feelings he’s been suppressing regarding her burgeoning relationship with Pierce.

 

If only he would talk to her about it, and tell her how he truly feels, maybe things would be different…and better. She’s tired of all the tension, mixed signals, the endless back and forth, hot and cold, one step forward, two steps back, they have a moment and hope surges in her breast, and then it’s over, and that newborn hope is dashed to death. Lucifer clearly hates it that she’s with Pierce. But he won’t tell her the _real_ reason why; Chloe’s quite certain there’s more to it than biblical curses and immortal men. Does he only want her again, now, because someone else does, like a little boy envying another boy’s toy? Or is it that unworthiness business again that’s holding him back from declaring what’s in his heart?

 

Embarking on this new relationship hasn’t been easy for Chloe. It’s a big step, and, as good as it feels, it also never feels 100 percent right, the gnawing rat of doubt is very busy at the back of her mind. Chloe keeps reminding herself that caution is a deeply ingrained part of her personality, and it’s a big adjustment letting a new man into her life. She always stops and thinks and looks before she leaps, that’s just the kind of person she is. She really is very lucky that Marcus understands and is willing to be patient and let her set the pace. She’d be a fool to let a man like that get away! Men don’t line up around the block to date divorced single mothers closer to forty than they are to thirty. But every time Chloe says that Marcus Pierce makes her happy, a little voice at the back of her mind whispers “but not as happy as Lucifer could.” Then Chloe feels compelled to defend her choice, to try to drown that brazen little voice out by reminding herself of all the practical reasons why she and Marcus make sense and she and Lucifer don’t. It’s like being an actress again, playing a part, getting into character, memorizing a script, delivering the lines convincingly. Her mother’s favorite mantra haunts her brain like a ghost: “think it and you’ll believe it.” And it’s true: if you act like you really want or believe something, you can convince yourself (and everyone else) that you really do, like you’re okay about baring your breasts in a movie, or settling for a man because he’s reliable and responsible, safe, steady, and entirely sane and emotionally stable, even when you know he’s not the one your heart truly wants and he doesn’t set off fireworks inside your soul.

 

Lucifer hasn’t come out of the interrogation room. He’s still standing there, looking so sad, helpless, and lost, like a homeless magician, stubble-faced and rumpled, eyes swollen and red, with his hair sticking up almost in a black parody of the twirl on top of a soft-serve ice cream cone. He clearly needs someone to take care of him. Chloe can’t leave him like this. She just can’t. If she does, Lucifer won’t be the only one who’s awake all night.

 

After quickly arranging for Dan to take Trixie, she shoulders her bag and returns to the interrogation room. She opens the door and holds out her hand.

 

“Come on,” she says softly.

 

Lucifer hangs back, eyeing her warily, like a cornered tiger wondering if it’s about to be shot with a tranquilizer dart and wake up in a zoo.

 

“Lucifer, let’s go.” She approaches him slowly and takes his arm. “We’ll get some takeout and then go home. I’ll stay with you tonight, and if you start sleepwalking, or flying,” she almost chokes on the word, “I’ll wake you up. Okay? You have to sleep tonight, Lucifer, you can’t go on this way.”

 

“Very well, Detective,” Lucifer sighs and lets her lead him from the room.

 

Pierce gives her a questioning look and holds up a key lime pie—they were supposed to have dinner—as he watches them walk out together with Chloe clinging to Lucifer’s arm. Chloe shrugs apologetically and gestures that she’ll call.

 

Docile as a lamb, Lucifer follows her. Without question or comment, he gets in the passenger seat of her car.  He’s clearly exhausted beyond words, but there’s something more, a worrying air of hopelessness and defeat. Right now he’s a shell of his former self.

 

Chloe hates seeing him like this and reaches out and pats his knee. He tenses under her touch and stares down at her hand, torn between desire and denial, until Chloe withdraws it. “You need to sleep and recharge your batteries, I need my Lucifer back.”

 

He remains silent, leaning his head against the glass, staring without seeing out at the city streets. He looks over at her only once, when they’re stopped at a red light, to flash her a hurt, offended stare, when her phone keeps ringing and she finally answers it and tells Pierce she has to “babysit Lucifer” and will call him back later.

 

Only the persistent buzzing of Chloe’s phone, announcing each new text, breaks the silence hanging so heavily between them. More than once she’s tempted to throw it out the window, it’s that frequent and annoying, but she’s a mother, she can’t sever the technological lifeline connecting her to her child in case there's an emergency. When she pulls into the restaurant parking lot, Lucifer just shakes his head and stares at her, bewildered, like she’s speaking a foreign language, when she asks him what he wants. She barely catches the murmured “you” it’s so softly spoken, but she takes it to mean he wants her to order for him. She goes inside and orders them each a chicken strip dinner with cream gravy, potato wedges, and a small salad, a strawberry shortcake for two, and a super-size black coffee for herself. As luck would have it, the milkshake machine is broken, and there aren’t any other caffeine-free options likely to tempt Lucifer; water is probably the best thing for him anyway, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to like it.

 

While she’s waiting for their food, she sends a quick text to Pierce, apologizing and explaining that she’s babysitting Lucifer tonight—she’s trying to keep it light and casual, like it’s no big deal—because he’s afraid he’s been sleepwalking, so he’s been forcing himself to stay awake. She’s going to sit up and keep watch while he sleeps tonight, and tomorrow she’ll insist that he see his therapist and come up with a better plan.

 

Pierce shoots back a text offering to come over and keep her company after Lucifer is asleep.

 

Chloe was too busy with acting to ever be a teenage babysitter, but her mind is suddenly flooded with images from all the movies she’s ever seen where such girls sneak their boyfriends in and spend the evening making out on the couch until they hear the parents’ key at the front door. She pictures Pierce sitting beside her on the caramel leather couch, slipping his arm around her and sliding closer for the inevitable kiss, and then his hand is on her breast as Lucifer sleeps, obliviously, in his regal black bed. There are no doors in Lucifer’s bedroom, and she imagines seeing his bare back with the cruel crescents of his scars plainly visible through the open doorway while Pierce’s hand dips between her tightly clenched thighs. The jolt of guilt and revulsion is so intense Chloe feels sick to her stomach. It’s so bad she almost turns back to the counter and cancels the order. But it’s going to be a long night, and she only had half a ham sandwich from the vending machine for lunch, and Lucifer hasn’t had anything but vodka-spiked coffee, sugar-coated Teeny-Tiny Donuts, and energy drinks all day. They could both do with a decent meal.

 

She tries to ignore the text, because she doesn’t want to answer it, but when her phone buzzes again she tells Pierce no, she’s not comfortable with that, she just wouldn’t feel right about it.

 

“Come on,” Pierce presses, “think about all the orgies Lucifer has, he won’t mind. We’ll keep things quiet, I promise, he won’t even know.”

 

But Chloe minds, and Chloe would know, and the answer is “No GTG TTYL.” She grabs the takeout bag and hopes he won’t say anything more about it.

 

At Lux, Lucifer almost falls asleep in the elevator. Once inside the penthouse, he goes straight to the bar, but Chloe heads him off. “Uh-uh, no alcohol tonight, I’ll get you some water.”

 

Pierce seems obsessed with the phone tonight; it’s flattering, but also kind of irritating. While she’s dealing with his latest onslaught of texts, Lucifer petulantly pushes his water glass away and picks unenthusiastically at his food, he’s rearranging it more than he’s eating it. When Chloe catches him nodding off on the bar stool, she puts down the phone and shepherds him towards the bathroom for a nice warm shower that will help him relax before bed.

 

“Just make sure you put some clothes on before you come out,” she calls after him.

 

When Lucifer emerges from the shower, she’s sitting on the couch nearest his bedroom, talking on the phone, still trying to pacify Pierce, and downplay her spending the night at the penthouse—“We’re friends, partners, we help each other out.” She tells him that she’s planning to catch up on some paperwork after she gets Lucifer settled.

 

Her half-eaten dinner, laptop, and a stack of file folders are spread out on the glass coffee table before her. And, just in case she needs something else to distract her, she’s brought along a book she found in the car; her mother must have left it last time Chloe picked her up at the airport. It’s one of those steamy historical romances Penelope Decker devours, sort of a twist on “Sleeping Beauty” involving a handsome highlander who’s been slumbering in a cave under a wizard’s spell since the 18th century until he’s awakened by a plain Jane archaeologist with the sex drive of a  nymphomaniac and the prowess of a porn star. Seriously, this woman literally stumbles over a naked man sleeping in the cave she’s excavating and her first thought is to have sex with him? There’s no conversation first—no “What’s your name?” “What are you doing here?” “Why are you naked?” “Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases?” Nothing!—she just climbs on top of him, and things keep getting hotter and hotter for the next eleven pages. How can her mother read this trash? Apparently a lot of people must, according to the back cover so far there are seventeen sequels and nine prequels.

 

Chloe glances up questioningly at Lucifer, hovering uncertainly beside the sofa watching her. She puts her hand over the phone and whispers “Why aren’t you in bed?”

 

Lucifer just stands and stares at her with dark chocolate eyes that remind Chloe of a hurt and sad puppy dog. He’s still damp from the shower, his hair, washed clean of styling products, she notices, has a slight curl to it, and he’s wearing black silk boxer shorts. But he’s had a little trouble with his robe, the back is all tangled up in the sash, and he’s only managed to get one arm through a sleeve—the wrong one—and the rest of it is trailing on the floor behind him.

 

Pierce is saying something and Chloe quickly turns her attention back to the phone. With her free hand, she tugs the tangled robe off Lucifer before he ends up tripping over it and tosses it on the couch. He won’t need it while he’s sleeping and she’ll sort it out later. It looks like he’s turned one of the sleeves wrong-side-out and twisted the back around the sash somehow; it’s almost as bad as the time her mother tried to knit Trixie a Christmas sweater, but at least Lucifer’s robe only has two sleeves.

 

“But you told me to put clothes on!” Lucifer protests.

 

And of course Pierce overhears and Chloe has to repeatedly assure him that Lucifer isn’t naked, and in doing so she starts blushing and babbling like an idiot as her mind conjures up vivid images of the times she has seen him naked. Just hearing herself makes Chloe cringe and want to bite her tongue off. Could she really say the word “naked” more if she tried?

 

While she’s trying her best to muddle through this increasingly awkward conversation about friendship and nudity, and her partner’s childlike, uninhibited nature, Lucifer starts to reach for her cup. Honestly, sometimes it really is like having another child!

 

“Don’t drink that, babe, that’s coffee, it’ll keep you awake!” Chloe says as she quickly reaches out to snatch it away before he can take a sip. Caffeine is the last thing Lucifer needs. He’s already had enough Red Bull to stop the heart of a bull if all those stories on the news about the abuse of energy drinks are to be believed. “I’ll get you some water in a minute…”

 

“I don’t want water,” Lucifer petulantly declares.

 

The “babe” really did just slip out; it’s exactly what she would have said if it had been Trixie reaching for that cup. It was an honest mistake, and she doesn’t need Pierce latching onto it like a bulldog, but that’s precisely what he does.

 

“You call Lucifer _babe_?” his voice blares in her ear.

 

“No, no, I…I don’t! It just slipped out! I was thinking about Trixie, and…Lucifer is such a child sometimes, and I just got my wires crossed! Damn it, Marcus! I’m only one person, I can’t talk to you and deal with…Lucifer, I said no coffee! Put down that cup! Pierce, I…Uh-uh, Lucifer, no, don’t you go near that bar! I’m sorry you think water is boring, but tonight is not about exciting beverages! How about some warm milk? I could put a little chocolate syrup in if you have any. Just a minute, Pierce! What about orange juice? No, I mean without vodka! How about some tea? My mother left some herbal tea in the car—Chamomile and Jasmine. Okay, yeah,” she sighs and rolls her eyes, “it kind of does taste like soap, that’s why I left it in the car. Yes, Pierce! No, Pierce! Listen, Pierce, I have to go! I’ve got to get Lucifer into bed! No! I don’t mean like _that_! I’ll talk to you later! Bye!” She hangs up before he can say anything else, groans, and slumps back against the couch feeling utterly exhausted. She tosses her phone onto the coffee table and glares at it like she’s daring it to ring or buzz one more time; if it does she just might throw it off the balcony.

 

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath and heaves herself up. “Come on, let’s get you to bed before I shoot you,” she propels Lucifer gently but firmly towards his bedroom.

 

“Come now, Detective,” Lucifer grins back at her over his bare shoulder, “I assure you, getting me into bed isn’t even half so difficult as you make out!”

 

“Lucifer, would you like to give me a pair of earrings to match my bullet necklace? Because you are _so_ close to…” She feels a sudden stab of guilt as she remembers that, to please Pierce, the necklace is no longer around her neck. She’s missed it every day since she took it off. Sometimes, when she’s alone in her apartment and knows Pierce won’t be coming over, she puts it back on, sometimes she even falls asleep wearing it and wakes with her hand hugging the smashed, blunted bullet.

 

“Okay,” Chloe forces herself to stop, close her eyes, and take a deep calming breath. “Go on,” she gives Lucifer a little push up the steps, “show me just how easy this can be, go get in your bed, and I’ll be right back.”

 

Behind the bar, Chloe pours cool, sparkling spring water into a glass then adds fresh lemon juice, stirs, and takes a test sip. With a satisfied nod, she carries it to Lucifer’s bedroom.

 

He’s sitting up in bed, sulking, but very alluringly, with his arms folded over his bare chest, and his black satin sleep-mask on his forehead, ready to be pulled down over his eyes. The satin sheets, gathered around his waist, are a lovely champagne-peachy color tonight instead of the usual black, they look cool and inviting, sandwiched between his tanned skin and the black jacquard bedspread.

 

“Here, try this,” she hands him the glass and sits down on the side of the bed.

 

With a dubious frown, Lucifer takes a tiny sip. A dark eyebrow lifts slightly in surprise and he takes another, longer, drink.

 

“Not too boring, I hope?” Chloe teases him.

 

“A slight improvement,” Lucifer concedes. But his grin quickly disappears, he isn’t done pouting yet. “You told Pierce you didn’t mean it when you called me _babe_.”

 

“I didn’t mean that I didn’t mean it,” Chloe tries to explain, “I meant it’s not something I normally do, and you know it isn’t. I was distracted, I was thinking about Trixie, and…other things, and it just slipped out.”

 

“You said I act like a child.”

 

“You do!”

 

“Why don’t you tuck me in then?” The words are a sullen yet seductive challenge.

 

“I intend to,” Chloe says and waits patiently while he takes another sip of lemon-water.

 

“You know, Detective, I didn’t really want coffee,” Lucifer confides with a cheeky grin.

 

“You didn’t? Well you had me fooled!”

 

“I just wanted to drink out of your cup.”

 

“Oh? Okay…” Chloe doesn’t really know what to say, so she takes the glass and drinks before passing it back to him.

 

Lucifer smiles, and, boldly meeting her eyes, places his lips where hers have just touched, and drinks, slowly and deeply.

 

“Lucifer…” Chloe begins, hesitant but hopeful. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

 

“Yes,” he nods, “this is quite good actually,” he says, giving her back the glass. “You put exactly the right amount of lemon in.”

 

Chloe sighs and shakes her head. Another missed opportunity! She rolls her eyes. “Thanks, I’m glad you approve.” She sets the glass down on the nightstand. “Okay, lie down now, and I’ll tuck you in.”

 

Lucifer pulls his sleep-mask over his eyes, slides his body down the slick satiny sheets, thumps his pillow, and rolls over onto his side.

 

As she draws the covers up over him, Chloe notices something she should have much earlier. But she was so distracted on the phone with Pierce that her eyes didn’t register the obvious.

 

“Lucifer,” she glides her hands disbelievingly over the smooth, unblemished skin of his back, “your scars…they’re gone! Did you have laser surgery or something? I didn’t know the techniques were that advanced, I mean, there’s no trace of them at all!”

 

His voice already slurry with sleep, Lucifer says, “I told you, my wings grew back.”

 

“Your wings, right,” Chloe nods exasperatedly and rolls her eyes. “You really must show me these wings of yours sometime!”

 

“Can’t,” the rest of the words, slurred and punctuated by yawns, come out in a soft jumbled mumble, “not unless I can show you my Devil Face first. The wings aren’t who I am anymore. They’re a cumbersome, feathery reminder of who I used to be courtesy of Dear Old Dad!”

 

Chloe’s hands are still on his back, and Lucifer gives a little moan and arches under her touch, then he tenses and frowns and rolls quickly onto his back.

 

“Still sensitive, huh? Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Chloe says, readjusting the covers and pulling them up over Lucifer’s perfectly tan, clean-shaven chest while trying to ignore the fact that it’s as smooth and sculpted as a marble statue’s.

 

“You didn’t,” Lucifer whispers, “my father did.”

 

Her knuckles accidentally graze a nipple and Lucifer sighs and shivers as though he’s never been touched like that before. Chloe is startled to feel an answering tingle at the tips of her own breasts. Even though Lucifer is wearing a mask and can’t see her blushing, she quickly turns off the sphere-shaped bedside light. She knows she should leave, say goodnight, and go back to the couch, but she lingers, sitting beside him, gazing down at this superbly beautiful man softly illuminated by the city lights filtering in through the sheer black draperies. A few wisps of black hair are caught in the mask and she reaches out and gently frees and brushes them back.

 

She can feel the slow and steady burn of desire spreading below her stomach. The fire intensifies and she’s suddenly filled with a wild and fierce desire to straddle him and grind and rub herself against him. She wants to bend down and bite his nipples just to hear him cry out and then laugh in delighted surprise. She wants soft, slow, simmering kisses and wild, hot, savage ones. She wants him to flip her onto her back just like a pancake in a skillet and mount and ride her without mercy, and then again, slowly, with a tenderness so achingly sweet it brings tears to her eyes. She wants to run her fingers through his hair and feel this maddeningly exasperating yet oddly endearing man-child suckling at her breasts, and to kiss the invisible ghosts of the scars on his back. She wants to fearlessly lay herself down before him, entirely naked, vulnerable, and open, with every inch of her fully and shamelessly exposed. She wants to feel his tongue flicking like a naughty serpent’s over her little pink nub, and his fingers stroking, caressing, pressing, finding the right rhythm to take her to the heights of ecstasy before she comes crashing down again to land safely in his arms. She wants to take her time and discover every little kiss and caress that brings Lucifer pleasure. She wants to touch him when he’s soft and feel his flaccid penis harden and come to life in her hands. She wants to reach down and guide him inside her and look into his eyes and see the moment when he realizes that she is his home. She wants to make Lucifer feel warm, safe, and wanted, and most of all loved, and she wants to feel that way too; they _can_ give each other that.

 

Chloe quickly stands up, her face flaming. She shakes her head hard as though the motion will send all the sexual thoughts scattering like bowling pins after a strike. Pearls of sweat bead her cleavage and trickle down her back. Her panties and the crotch of her leggings are damp. This isn’t right! It isn’t fair to Pierce, now that they’re together; he deserves mental as well as physical fidelity. And it isn’t fair to Lucifer either. Even if they are just fantasies, she refuses to be one of the shallow, fickle multitude who use him for a night of fun and pleasure then forget all about him and go on with their lives. He deserves better than that, even if he doesn’t realize it. He’s so much more than a walking, talking, living, breathing sex toy. And even if her fantasies are about more than just fun, meaningless “best night of your life” sex, she still feels guilty about them.

 

“Goodnight, Lucifer,” she impulsively bends down and presses a light, gentle kiss onto his forehead.

 

Lucifer gasps in surprise and his hands rise up, but instead of pulling her down to him, his fingers trail slowly, gently, down through the long golden-brown waves of her hair.

 

“Goodnight, Detect—Chloe,” he says in a soft, awestruck whisper as his fingers linger over the ends of her hair before his hands falls back down onto the bed again.

 

Chloe returns to the couch. A brief glance at her phone reveals only one curt text from Pierce telling her they’ll talk tomorrow. “OK” she answers, “Goodnight.” There's no immediate response. She feels anxious sitting there staring at her phone like some lovesick teenager so she gets up and busies herself with throwing away the Styrofoam food containers and putting the uneaten cake in the fridge. Maybe they can have it for breakfast? Lucifer loves strawberries. Still no goodnight text. Maybe Marcus has already gone to bed? Maybe he’s mad and ignoring her? Maybe she’s committed a fatal attack of sabotage tonight and killed their relationship and tomorrow he’ll tell her that it’s over? Can she fix this? Does she want to fix it? A relationship with Pierce is something, maybe, if she hasn’t blown it, that she really _can_ have. Isn’t something usually better than nothing? Why throw it all away over a dream, a fantasy unlikely to ever become reality? What she needs to do, Chloe tells herself, is embrace reality and forget the fantasy.

 

With a sigh, and one more glance at her phone, she picks up a file folder and tries to lose herself in work. When she reaches for her coffee, the silky robe draped over the back of the couch slips down beside her. Chloe sets her papers aside and works on untangling it. It’s a beautiful textured black silk with a lighter black floral pattern, it slides smooth and sensuously beneath her fingers and it smells like Lucifer—that unique warm, spicy blend of expensive cologne, fine whisky, masculinity, and cigarettes. Suddenly she wants to be enveloped it that aroma very badly. She wants to be cocooned, cradled, in it, like a pair of loving arms.

 

Chloe stands up and peels off her leggings and socks. She pulls her arms in through the sleeves of her baggy black t-shirt and wiggles out of her shell pink bra. Just before she starts to slip into the robe, she reconsiders and takes off her shirt; she wants to feel the silk, and his scent, against her skin. But somehow she doesn’t quite dare take her panties off, that just seems a little too…intimate. And she’s afraid it might feel too good…and right. She settles herself on the couch again, rolls up the overlong sleeves, tucks her feet up underneath her, and reaches for her paperwork. But it’s no good; her mind just isn’t where it needs to be, she can’t concentrate, so she decides to check on Lucifer.

 

He’s lying on his side again, back tense and turned towards the doorway, shoulders tightly scrunched. It’s curious, with that whole big bed to wallow and stretch out in, he doesn’t sprawl like a starfish or a child making a snow angel, but keeps strictly to one side. Maybe he’s just so accustomed to the other side being reserved for his overnight guests? Or maybe he’s just one of those guys who regard sex as one thing and sleep as another, and when he rolls over, ready for sleep, it’s like “keep out, no trespassing” is tattooed as a warning across his back?

 

Lucifer shifts restlessly onto his back again. Is he awake or just turning in his sleep? With that mask on it’s impossible to tell. His right hand moves beneath the covers and Chloe finds herself blushing again. She knows she should leave, or at least look away, but she can’t, she’s rooted to the spot. Surprisingly, she doesn’t feel the disgust that would normally be her automatic reaction. He’s not doing anything wrong, he’s alone in the privacy of his bedroom; she’s the one who’s intruding, watching without permission. And how many restless nights when sleep proved elusive has she done the same thing herself, trying to relax and find a much needed release? It’s over before her internal debate is, and without achieving the desired result. Lucifer isn’t really in the mood; he withdraws his hand and rolls back over onto his side again.

 

Chloe lingers for another moment watching him and then returns to the couch. She knows better than to even attempt the paperwork again, and reading would be an exercise in futility, she doubts her mind could take in a single sentence. She picks up her phone and lies down, scrolling through all the messages Pierce sent since she left the precinct. It’s almost as though he didn’t trust her and felt like he had to keep checking up on her. He never did say “goodnight,” and that bothers her, maybe more than it should. And then the rats of doubt start gnawing again.

 

At the sound of a whimper, Chloe sits up. As a mother, she’s well-attuned to the sounds that accompany a child’s nightmares. There it is again, followed closely by a heart-twisting cry of “No!” She leaps up off the couch and runs up the steps into Lucifer’s bedroom.

 

He’s writhing in the throes of what must be a truly terrible nightmare, he’s kicked the bedspread to the floor, and his legs are tangled in the satin sheet. He’s mumbling and whimpering, she can make out the words “no,” “please” and “don’t,” uttered repeatedly, and something else…was that her name?

 

“Lucifer!” she quickly turns on the light and bends over him, shaking his shoulder insistently. “Lucifer, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

 

With a gasp, he bolts upright, “No! Please, Chloe! I don’t want you to leave me!” he shouts.

 

“Lucifer, it’s okay, it’s just a bad dream. I’m right here!” she clasps his face between her hands. “I'm right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Breathing shakily, Lucifer snatches the sleep-mask from his eyes and stares at her like a lost soul wandering through the desert would regard the sudden miraculous appearance of an oasis. Before she knows what’s happening, Chloe is in his arms. He’s holding her so tightly that if anyone dared try to take her from him now they’d need the Jaws of Life. His skin is flushed, red and fever-hot, and he’s layered in sweat. His breath is coming in fast, ragged, tear-laden gasps, and his coffee-colored eyes are glistening and wet.

 

“Lucifer, everything’s okay,” Chloe rocks him in her arms like a child. She guides his head to rest upon her shoulder and strokes his sweat-soaked hair. “It was just a bad dream. I’m not going anywhere.” She’s alarmed by how hot his skin feels. Maybe the stress and sleep deprivation have finally caught up with him, lowered his resistance, and now he has a fever. “You’re burning up! I think I have some Advil in my bag or maybe some baby aspirin…” She starts to move away and stand up.

 

“No, please,” he reaches out to stop her, “don’t go, I’m alright.” He blinks quickly as the tears start to overflow his eyes. “I’ll just go and take a quick shower.” And before she can say anything else, he scrambles across the opposite side of the bed and disappears through the door leading through his walk-in closet into the bathroom.

 

Chloe remakes the bed then sits and waits for him. She’s certain now that Dr. Linda is right, suppressed feelings are at the heart of this problem. Whatever the outcome, bitter or sweet, they need to deal with this before Lucifer ends up in a psych ward.

 

A few minutes later, Lucifer returns, damp but calmer, wearing a fresh pair of black silk shorts. He seems nervous and embarrassed and quickly pulls the satin sleep-mask over his red, swollen eyes before meekly allowing Chloe to tuck him back into bed.

 

“Lucifer,” Chloe leans over him, gently brushing back the dark wisps of hair trapped by the mask, “I will always be here for you.”

 

“No,” he shakes his head adamantly, “you won’t. Pierce…”

 

Chloe lays her hand over his lips.

 

“…has nothing to do with this, you’re my best friend, my partner, and I will always be here for you if you need me, I promise.”

 

“He won’t let you, he’ll never…”

 

Chloe silences him again with her fingertips.

 

“It’s not for him to say, this is between you and me.”

 

His chest heaves with emotion and unshed tears and she strokes it gently, keeping her touch comforting and light. He seems to like that, and his breathing grows slower, calmer with each caress. He seems mesmerized by her touch, and, something more…curious, like he isn’t sure what this means. When her hand pauses, his chest rises and presses urgently against her palm, like a dog, longing to be petted, nuzzling its head into its owner’s hand. “Again, please!” Lucifer tremulously whispers.

 

“Okay,” Chloe smiles and continues the slow, soothing caresses. And, little by little, the tension melts from Lucifer’s body and he relaxes completely under her touch. Chloe leans down and kisses his forehead, and then, after a moment of nervous hesitation, she brushes her lips lightly against his. When their lips part, she hovers above him so that they’re just a breath apart. Lucifer reaches for her, his fingers tangling in her hair, and even as he starts to pull her back down to him, Chloe makes the decision and dips her lips down to meet his again.

 

His hands drift down to her waist and he lifts her gently, over his body, to lie beside him on the bed.

 

“Will you stay? Please…” he whispers softly, his voice shaky and shy as though he’s afraid to hear her answer.

 

Chloe tugs the mask up onto his forehead so she can look into his eyes.

 

“What for?” she asks bluntly.

 

Lucifer looks confused by her question. “To…” he hesitates uncertainly, “…sleep…with me, to keep the nightmares away, to…hold me...and I…I…want…I…I…need…to hold you, to feel you close to me.”

 

Chloe caresses his cheek and he leans into her touch hopefully.

 

“Do you mean…just for tonight, or…”

 

“No!” Lucifer jerks away as though she just slapped him and stares at her like a wounded animal. “No, Chloe, no!” he shakes his head adamantly. “Not just tonight, every night! I want you beside me every night, and every day too! I know you deserve someone better, but I can’t help myself, I can’t stop wanting you, wanting to be with you. I’ve tried to be, and I’m still trying…I want to be…worthy of you.”

 

“Then why did you push me away?” The expression in her eyes, the firmness of her tone, demands an answer, a real answer.

 

“Because I…” Lucifer flounders helplessly and tears shimmer in his eyes. “I wanted you to be free to choose. You were a miracle child, your mother couldn’t conceive, and wouldn’t have, if Dad hadn’t intervened and sent Amenadiel down to bless her womb. I didn’t know before, I only found out that evening after Dr. Carlisle injected you with poison. I was so happy before I knew, but then…I was miserable, angry and afraid. I thought my father was manipulating you, maneuvering us like chess pieces. If He made you for me then…you had no choice, and that isn’t fair. I…I wanted you to want me, to…love me, for me, not because my father…programmed…you to! I wanted it to be real! But I should have known better, Beauty only loves the Beast in fairy tales, you could never love The Devil. So I tried to set you free, that’s why I went away, I wanted to give you back your right to choose, your free will, but I couldn’t stay away, all I wanted was to be with you. But then when you did choose…someone else, well…I didn’t realize it would…”

 

“Hurt so much?” Chloe asks as the tears overflow her eyes.

 

She’s not quite sure what to make of all this miracle child, womb blessing, chess maneuvers, and divine matchmaking stuff that kind of makes God sound like Jane Austen, and, part of her is wondering if Lucifer has ever read a romance novel, because people who believe in fate and true love, and things like that, generally think soulmates are a good thing. But it’s late, and they’re both tired, and Lucifer loves her, and she loves him, and in the end isn’t that all that really matters? They can deal with the rest of it later, maybe with the help of a good therapist.

 

“Yes,” Lucifer nods, “hurt so very, very much, and that I would feel so…lost, lonely, and…incomplete. I felt like I had a home, and then I didn’t anymore, and I had no one to blame but myself. I tried to be good, to do what I thought was right and best for you, but…it’s all gone so terribly wrong!”

 

“It’s okay,” Chloe climbs onto his lap. She leans her forehead against his, sharing shuddering, tear-strangled breaths. “It’s okay,” she strokes his face. “We can fix it.” She draws back and looks into his eyes. “If you want us to?”

 

“More than anything!” Lucifer breathes, pulling her close to him.

 

“Me too,” Chloe nods against his shoulder. It feels so right and wonderful being in his arms like this. And in that moment she knows, divine miracle or not, it doesn’t matter, she’s exactly where she’s meant to be, and it’s also exactly where she wants to be.

 

“Okay,” she smiles as she climbs off his lap and guides him to lie down next to her, “let’s get some sleep.”

 

“Kiss me goodnight first?” Lucifer pleads as he snuggles happily in her embrace.

 

He needs sleep, not distraction, so Chloe keeps things soft and sweet.

 

“Good?” she asks.

 

“Mmmhmmm,” Lucifer nods, “but it would be even better if you kept kissing me.”

 

Chloe pulls his sleep-mask back down. “Sweet dreams, Lucifer,” she says, delivering a swift, sweet little peck to his lips before reaching past him and turning out the light.

 

“But I don’t want to sleep now, I want to play!” Lucifer whines against her shoulder, kissing and nuzzling her neck.

 

 “Lucifer, you need to sleep, and if you don’t behave,” she gently but firmly removes his hand from her thigh, “I’m going back to the couch. Maybe we’ll play tomorrow, if you get a good night’s sleep first.” She caresses his cheek, delighting in the prickly tickle of his stubble against her hand, and risks another sweet, swift little kiss. “Go to sleep, and in the morning you can have strawberry shortcake for breakfast.”

 

“Mmm…sounds delicious, but I’d much rather have you.”

 

“Go to sleep, and maybe you can have both.”

 

“Well, I am rather tired,” Lucifer admits, “goodnight, Detective, sweet dreams,” he burrows into her arms and Chloe listens as the contented purrs soon turn into gentle snores.

 

***

 

Early the next morning when Marcus Pierce enters the elevator downstairs at Lux, a happy and well-rested Lucifer is teasing Chloe about whether she coordinated her panties to match the cake they’re having for breakfast. They’re white cotton with a bright, cheerful pattern of pink and red strawberries. Maze calls them “granny panties,” Lucifer finds them “childish and unbecoming” and is having a great deal of fun trying to coax Chloe out of them.

 

“Come, come, my dear, these won’t do at all! They do nothing for you, but if you let me take them off, I can...” He takes the cake plate they’ve been sharing off her lap and lays his head down and begins kissing and nuzzling her thigh in a very enticing manner.

 

Chloe strokes his hair and assures him it’s just a happy coincidence, when she put them on yesterday morning she had no idea she would be spending the night at his penthouse or that they would end up in bed together having strawberry shortcake for breakfast.

 

She looks, and feels, radiant. She can’t remember ever feeling this good, or this happy, and, with Lucifer beside her, she slept wonderfully. She’s sitting up in bed, with her hair pulled forward, over her shoulders, to cover her bare breasts, though not out of shyness, he’s already licked and sucked whipped cream off of them. Lucifer rolls onto his back, laying his head in Chloe’s lap, and reaches his long, slender piano player’s fingers up to play with her hair, his knuckles brushing lightly, tantalizingly, against the tawny-rose nipples hiding beneath. Chloe gasps and shudders in ecstasy. But two can play at that game! With her fingertip, she scoops up a stray wisp of whipped cream that her tongue missed clinging to Lucifer’s right nipple. She licks it off, and Lucifer moans and rises up, his eager mouth seeking Chloe’s breast again.

 

The elevator dings to announce a visitor. Lucifer groans and flops back down onto the bed, laying his head in Chloe’s lap again.

 

“That’s probably just Amenadiel come to apologize. I gave him a box of Turtles—the yummy chocolate and caramel kind with little pieces of pecan…”

 

‘Well if you’re going to give someone a box of turtles, Lucifer, that really is the best kind…unless they have a nut allergy,” Chloe says as she reaches behind her for his robe and drapes it around her shoulders for modesty’s sake, and then yanks the bedspread up to cover the very obvious erection tenting his black shorts.

 

“Yes, exactly!” Lucifer nods vigorously. “I knew _you_ would understand! But Amenadiel thought they were real turtles—little baby turtles—dipped in chocolate! He was very upset, and there were a lot of words like ‘evil,’ ‘cruelty’ and ‘torture’ and references to Hell bandied about before he stormed out, possibly in tears over the fate of the turtles he imagined had been drowned in chocolate. But if they had been, it would have been by the DeMet’s Candy Company, not me; I’ve never harmed a turtle in my entire existence as he bloody well knows! So I really think I deserve an apology! No, more than that, I _demand_ an apology! And a box of Turtles— _candy_ Turtles—would be nice too!”

 

Chloe is just about to ask Lucifer if his brother has considered seeing a therapist, for actual therapy, not sex, when Pierce walks into the bedroom.

 

“Really, Chloe? I expected better from you,” he says pointblank.

 

Lucifer growls and makes a move towards Pierce, but Chloe stops him.

 

“No, Lucifer, it’s okay,” she pats his chest, “I’ve got this. Yeah, Pierce, you’re right…” Lucifer stiffens and she gives his chest another calming pat, “I should have handled this better, we—” she looks meaningfully at Lucifer, “should have handled this better, so no one else got caught in the crossfire and maybe hurt because we ran from our problems instead of sitting down and talking through them. Lesson learned?”

 

“Lesson learned,” Lucifer agrees.

 

“I’m not going to go into all the details, Pierce, that’s between Lucifer and me, but you and I should never have happened. I really am very sorry if I’ve hurt you. You’re a good man, and…you just came along when I was…trying to play through the pain and ignore it instead of dealing with it like I should’ve. You have a lot of great qualities, and together we look like a perfect match, if we’d both been on the same dating site we probably would have been each other’s suggested matches, but…all the statistics and lists fly right out the window when the heart is involved. What I told you last night was the truth when I said it, I was worried about Lucifer because he hadn’t been sleeping, it’s not healthy to go that long without sleep, and he was very close to the breaking point. I was going to stay here, as a friend, to watch over him, so he would feel safe about going to sleep and not worry about sleepwalking…”

 

“Sleep-flying,” Lucifer interjects.

 

“Or that,” Chloe nods and quickly moves on. “Anyway, I didn’t know when I said ‘goodnight’ to you that we were going to work things out. But some things that needed to be said were said, and…I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I was going to talk to you today.”

 

“Chloe, listen,” Pierce says, “don’t throw what we have away because of this jackass,” he waves a dismissive hand at Lucifer. “Let’s go back to my place and talk; I’ve got half a key lime pie in the fridge…”

 

“No, Marcus, I’d rather not,” Chloe shakes her head, “besides, I really don’t like key lime pie.”

 

“Neither do I,” Lucifer chimes in, “it has too much lime in it.”

 

“That’s because it’s made of limes, you idiot!” Pierce shouts, balling his hands into fists. “Now, look, Chloe, I’m willing to forgive you—just this once—you made a mistake, and when you’ve had time to think about it you’ll realize he’s not worth it.”

 

Lucifer recoils at those words and Chloe knows exactly the pool of self-doubt his mind has just plunged into. She can feel him floundering, like a drowning man, thrashing and panicking, assailed by his own insecurities and lack of self-worth. Such thoughts are as vicious as blood-hungry sharks.

 

“Yes, he is,” Chloe reaches over and squeezes Lucifer’s hand. With her other hand she caresses his cheek and when his eyes meet hers she nods and whispers fervently, “you are.”

 

Pierce eyes them with disgust. “If you really think that then…you deserve exactly what you’re going to get! Lucifer doesn’t even know what monogamy means, and when he gets bored and dumps you, which is probably going to happen before the week is out, and goes back to all his one-night stands and orgies, and you come back, crying on my shoulder...”

 

“Don’t hold your breath, Pierce,” Chloe says without even turning to look at him, “I think we’re going to be just fine.” She caresses Lucifer’s face. “We finally got what we deserve—each other.”

 

“I’m not going to do that, what he said, Chloe…” Lucifer starts.

 

“I know,” Chloe smiles and strokes his face again, “because if you do…I will shoot you.”

 

The elevator dings again. But Lucifer has already flicked the robe off Chloe’s shoulders and pulled her onto his lap and is too busy devouring her mouth to think of anything else.

 

“Brother, I am so sorry! Forgive me for the terrible things I said to you last night!” Amenadiel exclaims as he steps out of the elevator, almost colliding with the angry, scowling Pierce who brushes past him, nearly causing him to drop the large box of chocolates he’s holding out in front of him as a peace offering, or to use as a shield in case Lucifer throws something at him. “There’s a history lesson on the back of the box explaining all about this delicious confection. Have you tried them dipped in salsa?”

 

He stops abruptly, smiling broadly, at the sight of his brother and Chloe, together at last, entwined upon the bed.

 

Lucifer scowls at him over Chloe’s naked shoulder and his arms protectively, possessively enfold her back, pulling her even closer to him. He quickly snatches up the discarded robe and drapes it around Chloe’s hips. He’s not about to let his brother, or anyone else, see what atrocious taste his beloved has in undergarments if he can help it. He’s already planning on placing an emergency overnight order at the Victoria’s Secret website to rectify this tragedy.

 

Blushing and biting her lip to keep from laughing, Chloe buries her face against Lucifer’s shoulder.

 

“Apology and candy accepted, now get out!” Lucifer snaps impatiently at his brother.

 

Amenadiel chuckles and, taking the hint, sets the box of Turtles down on the corner of the bed and strides quickly to the elevator, calling a polite goodbye back over his shoulder.

 

“Now, darling,” Lucifer smiles as he lays Chloe down gently on the bed, “about these panties…”


End file.
